


See, there is the fire.

by Thorinsmut



Series: Freaks and Lovers [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Typical Violence, Canon typical drug use, Complete, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Intoxicated Sex, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Nonpenetrative Sex, Public Sex, Queerplatonic relationship, Secret Messages, Siege Warfare, celebration, mild suicidal talk, needle use, ok so maybe a little more than canon-typical drug use, radio broadcasts, the Hancock and Fahrenheit feels hour, the horrors of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: "There hasn't been a truly organized super mutant assault in the Commonwealth in a hundred years," Fahrenheit told the gathered assembly. "This—" she gestured sharply toward the rough mockup of the latest attack on the chalkboard, with the three different super mutant units marked—blood, ash, and radiation. "This was no normal raid. It was a systematic test of our defenses. Next time they hit us, in a day, in a week, they'll be aiming for the jugular."
Relationships: John Hancock & Fahrenheit, John Hancock/Male Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Sole Survivor
Series: Freaks and Lovers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720159
Comments: 36
Kudos: 50





	1. prologue: take note

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to HobbitDragon for being an enabler of Fallout fic, and beta reading. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> This fic is fully written, and I'm planning to post a chapter a day until it's done, so buckle in!  
> <3  
> TS

Goodneigbor had a _little_ warning of what was to come—if by 'a warning' you mean 'a brutal three-pronged super mutant attack'.

The nearby mutants had been quiet for weeks. _Too_ quiet, clearly. Goodneighbor was ready for them, though. Fahrenheit had the neighborhood watch honed to a fine edge, and Goodneighbor was a deadly little family. Everyone, down to the drifters, was a decent shot—if they had a target as big as a super mutant's chest to aim at, that is.

They hunkered up behind the walls, and sent the surviving super mutants packing in short order. Afterward, KL-E-0 went out to loot the corpses in her usual weapon-and-ammo collection run. Some of the young bloods, barely more than kids, were reckless enough (or just low on caps and desperate enough) to join her.

When they came back, a group of three little drifters came to the State House and asked to see Hancock and Fahrenheit. Never let it be said that Hancock wasn't a man of the people; he went right down to meet them. After a minute of 'you do it' 'no _you_ do it' whispering and poking each other, the one they were calling June stepped forward. She wasn't an imposing figure—threadbare and rail-thin, with frizzy hair and a pox-marked complexion—but having been chosen as the impromptu leader, she didn't hesitate.

"They was all carryin' these." June shoved a fist full of crumpled papers at Hancock.

Hancock accepted, not expecting much. Super mutant orders were never more complicated than 'kill, loot, return'. These ones didn't read all that different, at first glance. "Wait, attack, live, return." The 'waiting' bit was worrying, as well as orders to try to survive. That spoke to way more coordination and planning than super mutants usually went for.

"That's not good," Fahrenheit muttered, and then louder to the drifters. "Thank you for bringing these in. We'll take care of it."

"You've earned yourselves some Jet," Hancock said, warm to counteract Fahrenheit's brusqueness. Good work and loyalty to the Mayor deserved a reward. Some Jet and enough caps for a few warm meals ought to do it. Hancock patted his pockets to see if he had any on him, or if he'd have to run back upstairs.

June chewed on her bottom lip, clearly nervous, but didn't budge. "But, see, it's the other marks on 'em that's the bad part. The colors." She pointed at the torn papers, which Hancock had only thumbed briefly through to see that they all said the same thing. "We picked 'em up under the old road, and they had the blood spot. Out front of the gate had the coal smudge. And the ones that was comin' up through the warehouses—"

Hancock spread the papers out in front of him, and tapped the faintly glowing spatter of radioactive material—like they'd split open a glowing one to use its blood for paint. It tingled against his fingertips, but it was the implications that made his skin crawl. If he had any hair on the back of his neck, it would be standing on end.

"Well, shit." Hancock glanced toward Fahrenheit, intending to share a horrified look with his best enforcer, but her attention was elsewhere.

Fahrenheit's gaze was fixed on June—hungry as a hunting dog. "That was a keen observation. June, was it? We could use a pair of eyes like yours on the neighborhood watch. The job comes with room, board, and ammunition."

June looked as shocked as if she'd discovered that Santa Clause was real and offering her a job. She wasn't a local girl. June was clearly the kind of drifter who'd come a long way—traveled to the Commonwealth for the broken promise of a better life, and washed up in Goodneighbor. Now she'd found a place in the family. Fahrenheit would have her kitted out and training up by the end of the day, no doubt about it. And that was nice. That was great; really warmed the heart.

But it didn't change the fact that one more unseasoned gun wasn't going to fix the kind of trouble Goodneighbor was in.


	2. council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodneighbor didn't have anything so organized as a ruling council, but the main business owners in town were known to congregate in the old conference room of the Hotel Rexford from time to time.

"There hasn't been a truly organized super mutant assault in the Commonwealth in a hundred years," Fahrenheit told the gathered assembly. Goodneighbor didn't have anything so organized as a ruling council, but the main business owners in town were known to congregate in the old conference room of the Hotel Rexford from time to time. "This—" she gestured sharply toward the rough mockup of the latest attack on the chalkboard, with the three different super mutant units marked—blood, ash, and radiation. "This was no normal raid. It was a systematic test of our defenses. Next time they hit us, in a day, in a week, they'll be aiming for the jugular."

"Seems a bit far fetched," Marowski interjected. "All this from a couple stained bits of paper? How do we know the drifters weren't making it up to get free chems?" He shot Hancock a dirty look, like the chems Hancock gave out weren't already paid for.

KL-E-0 shifted in place, face laser humming quietly to life in a way that always got her the room's full attention. "I saw what I saw out there, honey, and it was three distinct enemy units. So I let the baby drifters turn it in when they figured it out. Even a working girl is allowed to have a heart."

"We can't know if they're coming for us," Hancock said. "Maybe the mutants were training against us before they attack their real target. _Maybe_. But I'd rather be prepared than count on _maybe_." There was some uncomfortable silence after that. "Daisy. You were in Diamond City during the super mutant siege, right?"

Daisy laughed. "Sure, but I was hiding in the dugout and missed all the excitement. The way they told the story afterward, we would have been overrun if it weren't for the Minutemen swooping in. General Martin." She put her hand over her heart dreamily. "Now that was a man worth looking at!"

Fahrenheit tapped her fingernails against her scrapmetal breastplate like she did when she was thinking hard. "Even if the Minutemen were still around, Goodneighbor couldn't count on them to show up for _us_. We're on our own, and we don't have Diamond City level defenses. If the Super Mutants come at us smart, as we are, they'll bust Goodneighbor open like a baby radroach." She stomped one boot down hard, while making a crunching sound for greater effect. Everyone in the room who wasn't a robot flinched.

"So let's make the best of the warning," KL-E-0 said. "I'd rather not start over. Again."

"Hear, hear, sister!" Daisy cheered.

And so, they planned.

Rufus Rubins got supplies to strengthen the walls and build more turrets, and caps to hire competent help for the work. Daisy was promised payment for any supplies she could get to Rufus. KL-E-O was convinced to give deep discounts on weapon mods and ammunition, so long as she got paid back. The Memory Den was to work as an emergency hospital and a fall-back position if part of the town got taken, with compensation. Marowski agreed to have Fred focus on cooking stimpacks and the kind of chems that made people better fighters in a pinch, to be distributed to Goodneighbor's defenders—for a price. Hancock cut a deal with Whitechapel Charlie, too, because 'no one who helps goes hungry' was both a catchy slogan and a good way to keep morale up and the people unified.

So the Mayor's personal wealth was taking a big hit, but that was all right. Goodneighbor was _Hancock's_ town. He'd taken it with blood, and he'd bleed out to protect his people. ‘Of the people, for the people’ wasn't empty words.

Hancock did the wheeling and dealing, because that's what he was good at, and Fahrenheit focused on battle strategy. She was planning heavier patrols on the walls, and getting all her rad-ducks in a line. She had plans for the Neighborhood Watch to complement plans for armed everyday people to complement plans for the Triggermen and other small-time gangs who'd set aside their enmity for just long enough to protect the town. There was a reason Fahrenheit was his right-hand gun. Hancock wouldn't have lasted a week without her.

Hancock closed a deal, and checked back in on Fahrenheit as she wrapped up a plan to get the best sharpshooters the town could boost up onto the roofs if/when the super mutants attacked.

"Never thought I'd miss that little pissant MacCready." Fahrenheit muttered aside to Hancock. "He was a decent sniper."

But MacCready was gone, back to the Capitol Wasteland with the cure he'd come to find, and not likely to come back. They only had who they had.

"Will it be enough?" Hancock asked.

Fahrenheit didn't answer, jaw tight, which was an answer in itself. She sighed. "If your man in a can was visiting, that would be something."

Nate was undeniably one of the heaviest hitters currently occupying the Commonwealth. Also, fond of wandering. There was no telling when he'd decide to drift back through Goodneighbor on his own.

"We can send him a message on the radio," Hancock said. "He's friends with Kent." Kent might not even charge to send word out, and the Silver Shroud Radio reached most of the Commonwealth, these days. Nate had scavenged parts from a pre-war repeater to boost it. The message was likely to reach him, wherever he was.

"And let every two-cap raider gang from here to the Pitt know we're in trouble?" Fahrenheit scoffed. "It would have to be... coded..." she trailed off, eyes darting back and forth in thought. "An encoded message, one only Nate would understand. Someone fetch Kent Connolly!"

"No, honey," Irma interrupted, gently. "Poor Kent, he's barely left his room since the, ah, _Sinjin_ incident."

"Jerome, then." Hancock suggested.

Kent's husband, Jerome, was a big quiet ghoul, and a dependable one. He'd been on the Neighborhood Watch for years, and came quick when summoned. He grinned when he understood what they were asking for. "Kent lives for this superhero shit. He'll come up with somethin' great, don't you worry."

"I'll help," Daisy decided, hooking her arm through Jerome's. "Nate and I are the same kind of nerd, and you need all the pre-war brains you can get for a message like this." They left, and the informal council broke up to see to their parts of their plan.

"Will it be enough?" Hancock asked again, when he and Fahrenheit were walking back to the State House alone.

"It's all we can do," Fahrenheit answered.

It would either be enough, or it wouldn't.


	3. rally the troops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual when he was giving a speech on the balcony, Hancock was high as a bird.

Jerome brought a holotape to the State House that night, and stuck around while Fahrenheit and Hancock played it aloud on his old computer. They'd come up with two different messages to play between episodes of the Silver Shroud.

Kent's played first.

"When the Silver Shroud's signal shines in the sky, he always comes. Silver Shroud, protector of the people. The Silver Shroud, a friend we can always count on. His symbol reflects off the clouds over Goodneighbor tonight. Let's play that next episode."

It scanned like any one of Kent's flights of fancy, to Hancock. No one made a peep, so he didn't pause it when, after a moment, Daisy's contribution started playing.

"Th-this is Kent Connolly, coming to you from Goodneighbor. Today I'm talking to Daisy."

"Daisy from Daisy's Discounts, stop on by. Everything's guaranteed to work... until it doesn't!"

"What have you got on your mind, Daisy?"

"Well, I've got this line stuck in my head recently, from a book that was old when I was born. 'The beacons are lit.' Been thinking about that a lot recently. 'The beacons are lit.' Seems appropriate."

"The beacons are lit, huh? Any particular reason?"

"Haha, now that would be telling. No, I've just been thinking about this friend who likes the book, too. If you're curious you'll have to see if the old library still has a copy."

"The Boston Library? Wasn't that taken over by super mutants?"

"Not since my friend cleared it out. My knight in shining armor! I hope he stops by Goodneighbor again soon. 'The beacons are lit.' such a powerful line."

"The b-beacons are lit. Now getting back to the Silver Shroud—"

The holotape clicked off, and for a moment they all just looked at each other. Fahrenheit stood up to begin pacing.

"This means something?" she asked, sharply. "Nate's going to understand this?"

"Those are some pretty famous references," Jerome said. "But there's maybe a dozen ghouls outside a' Goodneighbor who'd twig on to it, anymore."

"It's definitely _weird_ ," Hancock mused. Daisy's 'interview' in particular wasn't what the Silver Shroud Radio usually broadcast. "And Nate can never resist a weird radio signal." They got into all kinds of fun and trouble that way when Hancock went wandering with him. Nate liked to go barging in, even to obvious traps, counting on the fact that they were not prepared to catch something as deadly as _him_.

Hancock pulled the holotape out of his computer and handed it back to Jerome. "Get it on the air," he said. It might not help, but it wasn't going to hurt.

And, well, as Fahrenheit had said herself—it was all they could do.

As usual when he was giving a speech on the balcony, Hancock was high as a bird. It seemed to work out, but he didn't exactly remember all of what he said.

People were starting to pick up the weird tension, and get nervous. Nervous was good, but Hancock needed them nervous and alert and working toward a purpose, not nervous and jumping at shadows. He knew the spirit of what he was going for, and aimed haphazardly toward it.

As usual, Hancock was like a hand grenade and got close enough it made no difference.

"We're not letting the freest town in the Commonwealth fall!" Hancock said, and "Everyone knows Goodneighbor's deadly, so let's fuckin' prove it!" and "Nobody who helps goes hungry" because he'd planned that one. When they started chanting "Hancock," he answered back with "Goodneighbor", fist in the air, until they took that up instead.

"Of the people, for the people!" They all shouted together.

"Damn right," Hancock said, quiet but carrying in the silence afterward, and swayed back into the State House.

Goodneighbor had a fighting chance. Hancock had to believe that, and work toward it, or he might as well lie down and give up. And giving up just wasn't his style.


	4. take a stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodneighbor fought hard, the only way they knew how.

A drifter stumbled into Hancock in the street—make that a "drifter", with half his face hidden behind mirror shades, and he was lucky he hadn't gotten shanked on instinct when he lurched into Hancock's space. As it was, it was a pretty good cover to pass Hancock a little scrap of paper.

"They're moving in," it said. It also had a doodle of a rough little map of Goodneighbor, with lamps indicated on two points near the designated fallback zones. The Neighborhood Watch had already noticed the new graffiti of a white lamp in those exact places, marking potential evacuation routes through the old catacombs beneath Boston. They were dangerous but passable, especially if someone sneaky had gone ahead and left markers.

It was useful to have an organization like the Railroad operating out of the town, even if they couldn't be trusted to stay and fight for Goodneighbor. They were more the kind who lived to fight another day than the kind who lived to fight. Hancock was definitely in the second category. His blood was running hot in his veins. He grinned as he passed the note off to Fahrenheit.

Her face went hard, eyes glinting like ice. "Rally the lookouts!" she barked as she gathered ammunition and hefted Ashmaker—meanest incendiary minigun in the Commonwealth. "Get the snipers to their perches! Everybody in position, the party's on its way!"

Fahrenheit had the defenses under control, mind as sharp as a knife as she prepared to defend her chosen turf to the death. Hancock had never loved her more. There was no time to admire a beautiful weapon in her element, though. He had his own part to play, and his own position to defend. He took his best shotgun and all the shells he could carry to the part of the wall Fahrenheit had chosen for him, and waited.

Gray evening settled over the ruins of Boston with chilly breeze blowing through the buildings, and the first wave was a pair of super mutant suiciders charging for the gate. One of the bullets, in the hail of shots that met them, must have hit one in the hand. The mini nuke he'd been holding blew, and that set off the second one. The suiciders were out, well before they reached the wall.

A cheer went up from the defenders, like it was any normal raid where they scored first blood. That the super mutants had been marked with splashes of black paint across their chests proved it wasn't one.

"Well done," Fahrenheit's voice cut through the cacophony. "But it's not over yet. Make every bullet count!"

If Goodneighbor hadn't had warning, if they'd treated this like any other super mutant raid, they would have been focused on the activity by the gate and caught off guard by the next wave—radiation marked super mutants coming up through the warehouses. But they did have that warning. There was a whistle from a lookout in the back, the sound of the new floodlights getting tripped, and then the rattling of the turrets before the people got in on the game.

Hancock didn't have time to wonder what that looked like, because a group of black-splashed mutants holding blown-out corvegas as shields—two per vehicle—were rushing the gate.

The battle was on, and it dragged through the long hours of the night, stretches of silence broken by bloody punctuation.

Hancock fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, breathing on his hands to keep them from stiffening up in the cold whenever he had a moment. Goodneighbor fought hard, the only way they knew how.

Fahrenheit's voice shouting orders was a touchstone, an anchor in the chaos. She fired tirelessly, until Ashmaker's barrel was so hot it glowed bright yellow in the dark, her incendiary bullets tracing targets.

KL-E-0's laser lit the town bright red in deadly flashes.

Goodneighbor held the walls, and they lost people. Young blood who thought they were invincible with a dose of Buffout in their bellies and pulled stupid stunts, or people who just got unlucky and took a bullet somewhere a stimpack couldn't bring them back.

For a little while there was a super mutant with a rocket launcher up on the old sky road, aiming straight down into town. They got off four devastating shots before KL-E-0 got a clear line of sight and turned them to ash.

The mutants came from all directions, rushing the gate and the back warehouses and coming up in the moon-shadowed path of the sky road. Three of them, marked in red paint, even jumped down off the sky road to get past the walls. Two were dead before they hit the ground, torn up by the turrets. The third screamed on the busted pavement, clutching his shattered legs, until a Triggerman put him down.

There was the desperate heat of battle, over and over, but it was the quiet moments between that stuck out in Hancock's mind.

The moment in the dark where a ghoul with a cracked voice started singing a lullaby, and he could hear but not see the people around him sniffling back tears. Moments when he moved along the cover of the wall, whispering the encouragement people needed to hear. "You've got this, brother. Hold strong, sister. Steady, sib, we've got your back."

They took breaks in shifts, warming themselves with their backs to burning barrels so they didn't ruin their night sight as they gobbled down hot soup—until a whistle from a lookout had them all dropping their bowls and running back to their places.

There weren't enough people in Goodneighbor they could afford to have civilians hiding away. They needed every hand helping in any way they could. Even children, if they were big enough to fetch and carry. Kids in oversized helmets crept along the bottom of the walls between waves, bringing bullets, stimpacks, and water: purified water and tea for the humans, radiation-fortified water for the ghouls to give them a boost.

Billy Peabody, little ghoul who couldn't grow up, looked up at Hancock in the dark. "Is Mr. Nate going to come help us?" he asked wistfully, as Hancock drank from the glowing ladle the kid had passed up to him. "He promised he'd always come, if I needed help."

Hancock didn't believe in comforting lies. He handed the ladle back with the best smile he could muster. "He'll come if he can, little brother," he said. Hancock believed that. If there was one thing he knew about the toughest merc in the game, it was that Nate would come to protect Goodneighbor. Even if it hadn't been his home base and home to people he loved, he'd want to be here. If only for the sheer challenge of it.

What Hancock didn't know was if Nate would arrive in time to make a difference. Billy smiled back, though, and Hancock waved him along. "Go on. There's a lot of thirsty ghouls."

Over the radio, Kent Connolly had 'the Shroud's darkest hour' episode playing on repeat, with his and Daisy's messages between. He flinched at everything, panicky and afraid, but he was out of the Memory Den. His mechanical expertise was useful in helping Rufus keep the turrets repaired and loaded.

Anyone who was hurt too bad to fight, but whole enough they might recover, was carried to the Memory Den where Dr. Amari did whatever she could. Daisy was no doctor, but she'd been kicking around long enough to pick up a trick or two. Smaller injuries ended up in her shop to get bandaged, and she had a special gamma gun—modded to deliver a milder dose of concentrated radiation—that did wonders for ghoulish healing.

The night went on forever, it felt like. Super mutants bellowed out in the dark, and came on in wave after wave of mindless brutality. Hancock was exhausted, and he was a _ghoul_. He knew the humans had it harder. He'd been one himself, not so long ago, and they just didn't have the same kind of endurance.

Fahrenheit didn't show it, though. When a lucky group of super mutants got through the flagging defense, and blew a hole in the wall, she was first to run into the breach, Ashmaker roaring a fiery song in her hands. Hancock was just a step behind her, shotgun blazing, and Goodneighbor was with them. They mowed the super mutants down, and threw every bit of rubble and broken furniture they could grab into the hole to block it.

They were nearly done, adding some last fortifications to the rubble barricade, when Fahrenheit quietly set Ashmaker down and staggered to a squat against the shadowed wall of Kill or Be Killed. Her left hand was clenched around her right upper arm, blood seeping between her fingers, when Hancock made it to her side. She fumbled the stimpack she was trying to pull out of her pocket, right hand shaking, and Hancock picked it up for her.

"It's just the arm," Fahrenheit said, gritted through her teeth. Her voice was hoarse from shouting orders all night, all the more clear with her volume low. "It's just the arm. Bullet ricocheted off the breastplate." She turned her wrist up, veins offered to him without a thought.

"It still in there?" Hancock asked, unbuckling the armor off her arm and folding her sleeve back to get to the thicker veins at her elbow. The skills to inject _fun_ substances carried over just fine for stimpacks, but it wouldn't do much good if they had to cut her back open to get the bullet out afterward.

Fahrenheit shook her head briefly. "Through and through." Hancock pushed the needle into her arm, like he'd done so many times before. Fahrenheit grunted a sharp sound, grimacing, as he slowly injected the medicine. "Shit, that itches," she complained. She flexed her hand into a fist as he set the used stimpack aside. "All right. I'm good—"

"Let me bandage it for you," Hancock interrupted. "Can't have it going septic down the road. You need this arm!"

Fahrenheit _looked_ tired, now that she wasn't up and going. She looked about dead on her feet. Bandaging a wound the stimpack would almost certainly take care of was just an excuse to have a quiet moment with her, and to let her breathe. It didn't have to be said.

Fahrenheit didn't have to say outright 'we're not going to last long enough to worry about a wound going septic'. A sort of dry 'hah' communicated enough, but she still indulged him by sticking her elbow out to give him easier access.

Hancock efficiently cut the arm off her shirt, and wrapped clean bandaging material around the angry-looking fresh bullet wounds on her upper arm. If nothing else, it would make it hurt a bit less when she picked her minigun up again.

"Listen," Fahrenheit said, quietly. "Hancock, listen. They break through again, I need you leading an organized retreat. Fall back, take the catacombs out. I'll hold the rear guard." She touched the diminished stock of hand grenades on her belt. "Make sure they can't follow."

"And let you have all the fun without me?" Hancock gave her his best devil-may-care smile as he bucked her arm piece back on, but Fahrenheit wouldn't smile with him.

"They're going to need a leader; need _you_. It's chess. Sometimes you have to sacrifice a piece to keep the game going."

"Not the queen."

"Sometimes the queen." Fahrenheit was implacable, eyes red-rimmed but steely.

Hancock sighed and sat down, leaning against the wall beside her. His shoulder bumped against her uninjured one. The backs of their hands pressed against each other, knuckles brushing. "Squatting in a Goodneighbor alley," he said. "Right where we started. Coupla kids hiding with a handful of stolen chems. It feels right."

They'd seen something in each other, even back then. Something like a glimmer of the need to see justice, even if they'd both been too high and scared to act on it yet. Hancock had the magnetism to pull people together, but he might never have liberated Goodneighbor from Vic's reign of terror without her. And he sure as hell wouldn't have kept it so long. People looking in from the outside might see them as boss and bodyguard, but he'd thrown his lot in with Fahrenheit's just as much as she'd thrown in with his, and that wasn't changing. No matter what.

Fahrenheit didn't say anything. She just turned her hand to lace her strong fingers through his and hold on tight, same way they'd held on to each other all those years ago. Maybe that was something else they didn't have to say.

Hancock could have gotten back up, talked to people to keep them moving and motivated. Fahrenheit could have been surveying their battered defenses and planning for the next wave. Instead they were just there, together, for a little while.

"There's some gray on the horizon," Fahrenheit observed, eventually. "Maybe we _will_ see another sunrise."

"I'd like that," Hancock said.


	5. Rooks and Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun wasn't quite up but it was light enough that Hancock, looking toward Fahrenheit, saw her eyes go wide and her face blanch with horror.

The end came with flashes of light, mini nukes bursting out in the street beyond the sight of the gate, and heavy thudding rumbles.

"Guns loaded," Fahrenheit called out, grim. "Eyes up."

The sun wasn't quite up but it was light enough that Hancock, looking toward Fahrenheit, saw her eyes go wide and her face blanch with horror.

Hancock felt a burst of terrified adrenaline surge through his exhausted body even as he turned, searching for what she'd seen.

Fahrenheit was screaming, abused voice breaking with the force of it. "Fire! Fire! Aim for the legs!"

Swan.

The huge mutant behemoth, armored with parts of boats and trees, broke the wall of a moldering building as he staggered around the corner. Hancock had seen the Nightmare of the Common only once before, from a distance, an indistinct mountain of a shape lumbering around his pond in the dark. That one glimpse had been enough to warn Hancock off from the Common forever.

Swan seemed far bigger, now, away from the territory he'd never been known to leave. Hancock aimed for the knees, because Fahrenheit was right. The only chance Goodneighbor's defenses had was making sure Swan never reached them. Their walls would be a joke to the behemoth's massive strength.

Hancock fired again and again, just one gun in a lineup of killers all shooting as fast as they could, but it didn't seem like Swan even felt the hail of bullets around his legs. Yet through the thrill of panic, Hancock did notice something weird. The way Swan kept looking back, it was like he was running not so much _toward Goodneighbor_ as _away from_...

A rocket burst on Swan's back, driving him briefly to the ground, and in the ringing silence in the backlash of the explosion Hancock heard one of the best noises in the world: the particular laughing shout that was Nate taking a hit of Psycho, amplified and distorted through the speakers of his power armor. The man himself wasn't far behind.

Everyone in Goodneighbor recognized that power armor. Nobody but Nate had that sleekly-gleaming black and chrome color scheme, and certainly not littered with decals made from any shiny thing that caught Nate's eye. A ragged cheer went up from the walls as people realized what they were seeing.

Nate sprinted dead at Swan—far faster than humanly possible, with the jetpack on the back of his power armor giving him a little boost with every stride.

"Don't be like that, baby!" Nate taunted. He had a super sledge in his hands, swung it up, and brought it down blazing like a falling star. "Let's dance!" It hit with explosive force, shattering the improvised armor off Swan's arm and opening a bloody hole in his skin.

Swan roared and struck toward Nate with his massive hammer (was it a boat anchor?) but he was slow, and Nate was always astonishingly nimble in power armor. He dodged with a momentary boost from the jetpack and swung the super sledge again.

Watching Nate fight really was like watching a dance. He harried and harassed a monster a dozen times his size, the nightmare that had held Boston Common for a hundred years undefeated, like it was a _game_.

"Eyes on the approaches!" Fahrenheit barked. "Nate has Swan, so look out for others!"

It was a well-needed warning. They couldn't afford to let the spectacle distract them from protecting the town, no matter how impressive a show it was.

Every lumbering step Swan took vibrated the whole wall. Every swing of his hammer, missing Nate by inches, shattered the ruined road and bits of buildings. Nate was always amazing to watch fight. Not just the seamless way he used power armor, like it was a part of himself, but the sheer strength to make it move the way he did. He swung a super sledge like it was as light as a swatter. It was hard not to stare, as Nate taunted and struck and drove Swan into a fury.

Hancock tore his eyes away again and again, but there didn't seem to be much more in the way of organized assault. There was another burst of gunfire from the warehouse front, but brief. Out past Nate (now singing 'hit me, hit me' as he buzzed around Swan) there were rocket explosion and gunfire, even the light-burst of a mini nuke, but most of the figures who ran past the far end of the street weren't super mutants.

They were mercenaries, caravan guards, and settlement militia fighters. Big bad heavy hitters who owed Nate favors. They seemed to be ambushing whatever was left of the super mutant forces.

Meanwhile Nate had gotten himself between Swan and Goodneighbor, so when he tried to run again, it was away from the town. A merc with a rocket launcher planted herself at the end of the street and fired directly into the behemoth's face.

Swan fell down wailing, clutching his bloodied head. Hancock almost felt sorry for him. Almost. And then Nate jumped up onto his gnarled back and brought the super sledge down in a brain-splattering strike to the base of his skull, and Swan went silent. Just another twitching body in the street, a whole lot bigger than most.

Nate pulled his helmet off as he ran up to the gate. "Did somebody call for the cavalry?" He asked, to another wild round of cheers. His hair was a sweaty mess, smile way too huge on his round face, and even from the distance of the wall Hancock could tell his pupils were constricted to tiny pinpricks. In other words, still cruising high on Psycho.

"Damn is it good to see you!" Hancock called down, and Nate locked his too-focused gaze onto him with a sigh of relief.

"Took your sweet time, asshole," Fahrenheit added, through her own big smile.

"Glad to see people alive. Good, good." Nate bounced with a little boost of his jetpack, itchy and overenergized. "Doc Anderson's about an hour behind me; she should get here soon. I brought medical supplies ahead." He cracked a fancy panel of his armor open, and pulled a rough burlap bag out, which he tossed up to the top of the gate. "I'll be back. Time to play hunt the leader!" He laughed, manic, and even through his exhaustion Hancock wished he could jump down and join him in his madcap adventure.

"Wait." Fahrenheit ordered. "Hold up just one moment, Nate." She handed the sack of medical supplies to a runner, pointed them toward the Memory Den, and addressed the town. "Any Rooks still standing?"

Hancock wasn't the only one staring at Fahrenheit like she'd grown a second head spouting nonsense—but a few people stepped up and nodded grimly. They were from the Triggermen, from the Neighborhood Watch, from the toughs of Goodneighbor. They were all experienced hands, brutal fighters, level-headed and loyal. Hancock almost laughed when he got it, because _of course_ Fahrenheit had made a special group within the defenders, with special orders, and named them after her favorite chess piece.

"This is your chance," Fahrenheit said, teeth bared and fierce. "Goodneighbor's secure, now take the hurt back to them! Fred, give them the strong stuff."

They'd fought all night, but Fahrenheit's half-dozen Rooks were game to go. Fred Allen handed out prepared packets of chems to them. It really was the strong stuff—high potency Bufftats and Psychojet and other fun toys that gave one hell of a boost, with the corresponding crash later. It would keep them going long enough. Probably.

The Rooks were locked and loaded in moments, and poured out the gate to join Nate, who'd replaced his helmet. There was another round of explosions out in the ruins past Goodneighbor, and Nate instinctively took a step toward it. He paused to touch his fingers to the front of his face plate and gesture it toward the top of the wall like a blown kiss. "Playtime isn't over. Later!"

Nate charged away with the Rooks trailing, his bellow of "Don't kill them all without me!" echoing back.

Somehow, with that, it was all over but the kissing and the crying. Goodneighbor was getting a good start on that, when Hancock looked away from Nate's retreating back. There was wild jubilant laughter, and shocked overwhelmed tears, celebration and mourning, and not always at different times. Messy emotions were overflowing everywhere, and an awful lot of oh-shit-we're-alive kissing to go with it. Hancock made for Fahrenheit, who hadn't moved from her post to join in.

It wasn't that she wasn't feeling anything, but that she was feeling _too much_. She looked at Hancock like she couldn't quite make sense of him.

"Yeah," Hancock said, reeling himself.

Fahrenheit set Ashmaker down between her feet, and rubbed her face with both hands. "God," she said, faintly, all but lost beneath the sound of the celebration. And then. "There's something wrong with that man of yours."

Hancock laughed. "And thank fuck for that!"

Fahrenheit's answering laugh was hoarse, and she grimaced like it hurt her throat. It probably did. "All right," she shook herself, swallowed hard. "All right. We've got to—" She staggered slightly with exhaustion, balance briefly failing, when she reached down for her minigun.

"I got this," Hancock said, steadying her arm. "You kept us going all night. Go get some rest."

She didn't pull out of his grip, just blinking at him—too tired to argue that she wasn't that tired, but too stubborn to give in.

"Hey, any idiot can coordinate the cleanup," he said. "Fall down for an hour and come back sharper. I got this."

Fahrenheit sighed and nodded, and hefted Ashmaker like her arms weren't aching from holding the heavy gun all night. She did go to the State House to nap, but not without relaying orders to every group of defenders along the way.

Hancock dug around in his pockets and found, happily, that he had a few Mentats left. They'd keep him up and alert until Fahrenheit was back, and he could keep an eye out for Nate's triumphant return at the same time. Right now Goodneighbor was volatile in unexpected victory. With the main danger over there would be all kinds of jockeying for power in the aftermath. They needed leadership.

Hancock grinned as he crushed a couple minty Mentats between his teeth and washed them down with irradiated water. The morning sun was shining on Goodneighbor, and Hancock threw himself into the role of Mayor with _vigor_.


	6. victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no party like a Goodneighbor party.

There was no party like a Goodneighbor party.

They'd had the day to rest and recuperate, and when the sun went down the whole town went wild. It was a wake to honor and mourn the people they'd lost. It was a celebration of their own survival. It was a pressure valve, blowing off the remnants of the stress they'd all been under.

Out in the front square, the body of the super mutant leader was strung up like a gruesome scarecrow to let everyone look their fill. This one was bigger than most non-behemoth super mutants, with a strange grimacing face and skin so blue it was almost purple. Damnedest thing Hancock had ever seen. He wouldn't have known what to make of it if June and a few other settlers from out West hadn't recognized the mutant as a 'nightkin'. They weren't local, that was sure. They'd been smarter than the local super mutants, too, and taken charge of them to plan the assault.

Hadn't planned on Nate, though.

The man himself had dragged the body in, and then collapsed on Hancock's couch for a few hours. Between catching some sleep himself, and keeping on top of the town, Hancock hadn't really had time to follow up with Nate. He'd caught part of Fahrenheit debriefing him about the nightkin's motives, or at least the part that ended in Nate exclaiming, "How should I know? They weren't exactly carrying around a convenient holotape of their diary!"

In the grand scheme, the motive didn't matter. Goodneighbor had been a tougher nut to crack than anticipated, and they'd had backup when they needed it most. Goodneighbor was still standing, and that meant they were going to drink until they fell down.

There was free food, a feast enough for all. There were bonfires in the streets, burning bright, and people sang and danced around the flames. Down in the Third Rail, Magnolia was putting on one hell of a show even sitting down with one bandaged foot propped up on a stool. She'd fallen and twisted her ankle something fierce during the long night, and kept on fighting until the fighting was over.

That was the Goodneighbor spirit. All around Hancock were bruised faces and injuries of varying severity, all displayed proudly. The stories were flowing as freely as the alcohol and chems. Everyone had their moment of heroism to crow about.

"We did this." That was the word Hancock wanted circulating, the angle to spin. "We did this, all together." Keep the grandstanding to a reasonable level, and no letting any one person or group say they did more or demand why anyone else hadn't done the same. Everyone had done what they could. Hancock moved through the crowd, slipped a word in here and there, and kept the right song playing.

Nate could have tried to steal the show, having dealt with Swan so visibly, but he didn't. Every time Hancock noticed someone trying to congratulate him, Nate turned it around to have them sharing their own story instead within moments. Maybe it was just that the hours of his nap hadn't been quite enough to kill the Psycho drop, leaving him less than eloquent, but Hancock was glad of it either way. Nate could have soured the celebration, but instead he strengthened it. Just another reason Hancock liked him.

It didn't take much to set the tone, not with victory fresh and everyone satisfied. The good will was strong; once it got going it built on itself. Even Kent Connolly was out. Jerome had an arm around his shoulders, both to offer Kent moral support and because Jerome was healing from a gunshot wound and needed something to lean on while he insisted on being up. Nate greeted Kent as "the man of the hour", got him a Nuka Cola, and found them a quiet corner to plan a phrasebook in case Kent needed to send him secret messages over the radio again.

Hancock left them to it and joined Fahrenheit in the Third Rail. She was taking it easy with just a single beer, because she'd volunteered for second watch through the middle of the night. She kicked a chair out for him when she saw him, and Hancock clinked his bottle with hers as he sat. Their feet found each other, ankles hooked together beneath the table, and they just sort of grinned at each other as they drank a wordless toast.

_Look at us, still here despite the odds. Guess we get to raise hell a little longer._

Then they started making plans, because that's how Fahrenheit worked. They were deep in it when Nate found them.

"Mind if I join?" Nate asked, mostly to Fahrenheit, and Hancock pulled Nate down into his own seat and sat on him. Nate made comfortable furniture, and he didn't mind that Fahrenheit had all of Hancock's attention at the moment.

And that was just another reason why Nate was his favorite. He _got_ the thing Hancock had going on with Fahrenheit, and never got jealous or tried to compete. He'd have lost Hancock entirely the moment he tried that kind of shit. It wasn't even a competition. Hancock could have a favorite freak, a main squeeze, any amount of sugar on the side—but Fahrenheit was beyond all that. She was _essential_. They'd chosen each other. After the things they'd faced together, nothing could pry them apart.

Once, when the chems were hitting just right in the post-coital glow and Hancock was feeling particularly honest, he'd told Nate he was lucky he'd sided with Fahrenheit instead of Bobbi when that heist went tits-up. Hancock hadn't been there, but the scene haunted him. They hadn't known how deadly Nate was yet; thought he was just an average goon in scavenged power armor. Fahrenheit hadn't known how dangerous it was when she stood on the catwalk and confronted the would-be thieves in the storage depot. Nate had listened to both sides: Fahrenheit telling him to walk away, Bobbi telling him to kill Fahrenheit, and then backhanded Bobbi into a wall for lying to him.

Bobbi had gotten off easy with a broken arm and an invitation to get the fuck out of Goodneighbor. Nate had proven his loyalty to the Mayor, and made a place for himself in town. If he'd made the other choice, Hancock would have befriended him all the same—for just long enough to get him out of his power armor and slit his damn throat.

When he'd told him that, Nate, bare-ass naked and unarmed in Hancock's bed, met his eye without the slightest trace of revulsion or fear. He took Hancock's hand and wrapped it around his throat. Hancock was holding his heartbeat in his palm when Nate said, "Good. I'd've deserved it."

They were hard men, both of them killers, but there was some twisted sense of honor in the lines they would not cross and the lengths they'd go to for their own. They could understand each other in that. They both knew that sometimes people in power needed to be checked. Even (especially) if the person with power was _them_.

In the Third Rail, with the whole town celebrating around them, Hancock idly played with Nate's thick hair as he and Fahrenheit planned. They needed to send out a team armed with laser weapons and flamers to incinerate all the super mutant bodies before they started attracting bloatflies, because it wasn't fair to expect KL-E-0 to deal with it all herself. They needed to take care of their own dead with a little more ceremony. They needed to repair the walls and buildings that had been damaged, and figure out how much of the new armaments they could afford to keep running. There were supplies they were low on that they were going to have to trade for, and a lot of injured people who needed decent care if they were going to make a good recovery.

"We can't afford to be weak right now, after everything," Fahrenheit said. "We can't look like a softened target. It might be best to extend the free meal scheme by at least a few weeks, to keep people working together."

"Or forever," Hancock said, because he'd kinda been thinking about that. It had been nice, given the town a whole different feel. Goodneighbor had always had an edge of desperation, and they'd been pretty damn desperate getting ready for the assault too, but a different flavor. People were better when they weren't hungry. "Not as some kind of charity, and no authoritative crap with time cards and quotas. Just helpin' out the people who help each other out. Like family, you feel? No one who helps goes hungry, whatever kind of way they wanna help."

Hancock had been surprised at some of the things people had come up with to bolster the defense of Goodneighbor. Sure, a lot of them asked what Fahrenheit's plans were and just helped with them, but not everybody. He wanted to see what kind of creative projects people might try if there was an incentive to improve Goodneighbor for everyone.

Fahrenheit gave Hancock her patented piercing look, but nodded slowly. "If there was ever a time we could get away with a cultural change, it's now. Paying for it long-term might be a challenge."

"Shit." Hancock wished he was on Mentats to make him sharper instead of alcohol to loosen him up, but he could come up with a plan anyway. There'd be time to refine it. He gestured with his bottle. "Make people contribute. Want to sell in Goodneighbor? Pitch in."

Fahrenheit pursed her lips, quirking an eyebrow. Hancock had known it was a hard sell when he said it, but it had to be possible.

"Of the people, for the people," Nate said, in a quiet tone that sounded approving. One big hand tightened on Hancock's thigh.

"Of the people, for the people!" Hancock pounded on the table for emphasis. "Helping out. That's the cost of doing business in Goodneighbor. Making sure people aren't kicked out into the ruins for who they are, that's just the start. How long have we been stuck on _step one_? We can do bigger and better! We've gotta try." Hancock might be making this shit up as he went along, (story of his entire Mayoral career), but the decision felt good. It felt right. It felt like he should have done it a long time ago. He tried to take a triumphant drink, but his current beer bottle was empty. Nate handed him his own, and Hancock took a big swig from it and then kissed a pale starburst scar on Nate's cheek.

Fahrenheit shook her head and took a sip from the single bottle she was still nursing, but the corners of her eyes gave away that she was smiling. "Bunker Hill has their caravan tax, and they get plenty of trade. We'll make it work. Just plan on a few more attempts on your life until things settle."

Hancock waved grandly. "That's what I've got you for. And you, handsome killer." Hancock tugged Nate's hair and bit him on the jaw, because he was not immune to being held and touched the way Nate was doing.

Nate groaned, hands clenching on Hancock. Fahrenheit laughed and stood up. "Now I've lost you. Better take that elsewhere before Charlie toasts you with his burner."

"You could always join us," Nate invited, with an overexaggerated eyebrow waggle.

Fahrenheit snorted and took Nate's chin between her fingers. She turned his face back and forth, inspecting him like a prize brahmin for sale. Nate allowed it, moving where she moved him and gazing up at her with his best show of worshipful eyes the whole time. It was pretty hot. Fahrenheit didn't seem to agree, and shoved Nate's face away. "Like I go for men. You boys have fun."

Hancock noticed at least two nearby sisters and a sib who did not ascribe to the binary perk up at that, in the good old 'I actually have a chance?' realization as Fahrenheit crowded up to the bar to talk to Whitechapel Charlie. She was going to do _just fine_ for herself if sex was how she wanted to spend the evening, so Hancock didn't feel bad about kissing Nate's poor rejected face better.

Nate responded eagerly, soft lips parting to suck on Hancock's tongue. Nate tasted like beer and human, warm and slippery. He stroked Hancock's back and thigh, and his broad chest rumbled beneath Hancock's hand in a very promising moan. Hancock was already warm with alcohol and good energy—the heat of desire pooling in his lower belly fit right in.

It wasn't easy to pull back from the kiss before it got too involved, but it was unfortunately necessary. Goodneighbor might have a libertine attitude, and moreso during a town-wide celebration, but Charlie had some very strong subroutines about fucking where food and drink were served.

"Hey there, big guy," Hancock purred. "How much privacy are you in the mood for?"

Nate, pupils already blown wide, swayed toward Hancock like he was going to forget the question and just kiss him again. He caught himself, glanced around at the happy crowd in the Third Rail, and then slid his hand further up Hancock's thigh, one knuckle brushing his crotch. "Let 'em watch."

"That's the spirit!" Hancock crowed, and grabbed Nate's hand to tow him into the VIP lounge. Someone had tacked a bit of torn sheet over the doorway in a half-assed nod to decency. The space beyond already smelled like sweat and come. The moment they were through and Hancock turned back to grin at Nate, Nate lunged forward to kiss him again.

It was hot and demanding. Nate backed him into the room, holding him close and knocking his hat askew. Nate kissed him deep and long and, uh, actually kind of frantic. Not quite right. Hancock fully intended to ask him what the hell, but he only got so much as surfacing with a calming "whoa" when Nate blurted it out.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was?" Nate's great big shoulders hunched up toward his ears. He cradled Hancock's face between both hands, staring at him hard before he shut his eyes and shook his head. "I'm scavenging out by the Glowing Sea, happen to turn on the radio, and... I ran." He straightened Hancock's frock coat a bit, not quite looking at his face. "I ran all damn night, thinking I was gonna get here and find—" he broke off sharply, bottom lip trembling. His eyes were suspiciously shiny.

"Hey," Hancock said softly. "Hey, Goodneighbor's still right here. I'm right here."

"Yeah." Nate rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, tried to laugh. "Yeah, it just kinda hit me all at once. Fuck."

Everyone knew the pre-war ghouls were fucked up about losing their whole world, in one way or another. Nate had gone through the same thing, but in the blink of an eye. Normally his happy-go-lucky attitude obscured it. He rolled with the punches like a pro, but of course the threat of losing the little home and family he'd found hit him right in the sore spot.

It had been a close thing, too.

"We're still here," Hancock repeated. "But listen, if you wanna head out?" He'd been looking forward to sex, but not if Nate wasn't in the mood anymore. The whole town's stock of Med-x was going to the wounded, but Hancock was pretty sure he still had some Daytripper in the State House. He could do worse than tuck Nate into bed with a dose to let him dream the worst of it off.

Nate glanced around the lounge and blushed. Their conversation hadn't much disturbed the people already in the room. There were two separate couples dry-humping against the walls, people littered on the chairs and tables, and a particularly energetic threesome had occupied the couch.

Nate licked his lips and deliberately eyed Hancock up and down. "And miss out on the thank-God-we're-alive sex? It's a time honored tradition." He gestured past Hancock with a turn of his chin. "Chair's free."

One of the chairs was, in fact, in the process of becoming free. Two girls—the former drifter, June, and a friend—were gathering their clothes to stagger back out of the lounge.

"Mayor," June said, nodding awkwardly to Hancock as she slipped past. The friend, following, swayed and bumped into Nate. She blinked at all of Nate's size with a heartfelt 'whoa', patted his bicep as if to make sure it was really real, and was gone.

Hancock almost wished he had the strap with him, to put on a show and let the whole town see how good Nate was, but he could improvise. He sprawled out in the chair, one leg thrown over the arm, and tipped his hat to just the right cocky angle as he grinned at Nate. Nate went to his knees without any prompting whatsoever, and pressed his face to the crook of Hancock's knee, breathing deep. Hancock knew he didn't smell human, but he did keep himself clean, and Nate never complained. In another mood, Hancock might have taken a hit of something nice and let Nate figure out his own fun. That was always a good one, but as it was, Hancock put a hand on Nate's head to hold him close.

Nate needed to feel that everything was ok, that what he'd been worried he'd lose was still here, and Hancock might need that too. He stroked Nate's hair and crooned soft words to him as Nate kissed and bit his way up the inseam of his pants. Nate visibly relaxed as he went, getting into the scene.

Nate exhaled deliberately when he reached Hancock's crotch, breath hot through the worn fabric. Hancock's hips jolted up on hungry instinct.

"Let me?" Nate begged. He mouthed at Hancock through his clothes, hands stroking up Hancock's thighs and hips. "Let me suck you off?"

"God, yeah." Hancock tugged on a fistful of Nate's hair, and Nate shuddered as he carefully untied Hancock's sash and undid his buttons. Wonderful thing about the fall-front breeches, they were a whole lot easier to get open than jeans had ever been. Nate rubbed his nose against the roughs leathery skin of Hancock's lower belly, and then closed his warm lips around Hancock's sensitive flesh. Hancock held Nate's head in place, and let himself soar on the sweet sensation.

The lucky lady in the threesome on the couch squeaked and gasped her way through another orgasm, head thrown back in ecstasy. One of the couples along the wall slowly slid down to the floor, tangled up in each other. The sound of happy drunks drifted in from the main room of the Third Rail. Above it all, Magnolia was singing her beautiful heart out.

It was Hancock's town, victorious. It was Goodneighbor and all was well. And the man with the softest mouth in the whole damn Commonwealth moaned between Hancock's legs as Hancock shook and came on his face.

Nate looked up at him with his eyes shining, mouth red, and Hancock kissed him hard as he closed his pants back up. A performance like that deserved— deserved something. Letting Hancock get away with whatever else he wanted and Nate liked, maybe, or deserved getting shown off.

Hancock pulled Nate up and got him sitting in the chair, and took his shirt away. Nate had serious world-class tits and if ever the town (but mostly Hancock) deserved to admire them it was now. Hancock spread both hands out across the soft-furred bulk of Nate's chest and squeezed. Nate arched his back into it, stretching up toward Hancock for another kiss, and any plans for a fancy show were a lost cause. Groping and making out like a couple of horny teenagers won the day.

Nate came loud with his hand down his pants and Hancock's bite marks all over his neck. Someone whistled and applauded, and Hancock flipped them the bird without looking.

He and Nate kissed softly after that, tender and lazy in the kind of comfortable affection Hancock had been scared he'd lost forever when he went and survived turning himself ghoul. But Fahrenheit had stuck by him even then, and there was at least one freak in the world who wasn't put off by the king-of-the-zombies look. He _did_ wear it well, if he said so himself.

Nate broke the kiss with a yawn, and then chuckled softly to himself. "Your bed's a lot comfier than this chair, if you want to?"

"Sure." The man had a point. Hancock unfolded himself from his lap, and led the way up to the State House, and he did not give Nate his shirt back along the way. Nate puffed up his chest and swaggered, accepting any looks thrown his way as his due.

The town was dancing around them, and for once that wasn't because Hancock's vision was going swirly. People drank, laughed, fucked, cried, and screamed the defiance of their continued survival into the sky.

There was no party like a Goodneighbor party, and Hancock let the electric energy of it lift him up as he took Nate to his bed above the wild celebration.


	7. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock raised his shot glass of moonshine in a silent toast to Goodneighbor.

Hancock relaxed on his balcony, taking it real easy with a bottle of Bobrov's—just enough to keep a good buzz going. The town was still partying beneath him, and someone downstairs in the State House had the radio tuned to the Silver Shroud station. Kent's voice came on, after the episode. He sounded tired, stuttering more than usual, but confident and proud.

> "Goodneighbor's standing. Against all odds, Goodneighbor still stands.
> 
> There's one place. One place in the whole Commonwealth, where you can go when no one else will have you. And it's a violent place, a dangerous place, but it's not a pit of raiders and it isn't unprotected.
> 
> When you got nowhere else to go, there's always Goodneighbor.
> 
> We're the misfits, the f-freaks that no one wants, and we're still standing.
> 
> Last night, we held our own against an organized Super Mutant attack like I haven't seen since the siege of Diamond City in 2180. The ringleader was a type of mutant they call a 'nightkin' out west—came from the NCR or Independent New Vegas, we don't know. You wanna see the body, it's strung up in the front square.
> 
> The nightkin brought half the super mutants in Boston to our door, and Swan, too. The super mutants are dead. The nightkin's dead.  _ Swan _ , the Nightmare of the Common, is dead! And Goodneighbor stands!
> 
> We're the outcasts, the ones who've been thrown out, and thrown away. No one in the world would stand up for us, but when it came down to it the p-people of Goodneighbor rose up together, and Goodneighbor stands!
> 
> There's just one town, one town in all the Commonwealth where who you are doesn't matter. When there's nowhere else, there's always Goodneighbor.
> 
> We can't count on anyone else, so we counted on each other. We might be fighters, or dreamers, but we're  _ survivors _ every last one. We looked after our own last night. We're still standing.
> 
> If you got nowhere to go, we're here.
> 
> Goodneighbor stands."

There was a smattering of drunken cheers, and some applause, among Hancock's fellow listeners. Hancock whistled to add to it.

Behind him, Nate was face-down and conked out in his bed, dead to the world. In front of him, Fahrenheit was pacing her watch along the top of the gate. Beneath him, the town was getting totally wasted.

Hancock raised his shot glass of moonshine in a silent toast to Goodneighbor. His town. It wasn't perfect, but he'd take it.

He threw the shot back and smiled through the burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you can.  
> I'd love to know that someone read this fic, and what you thought of it.  
> <3  
> TS


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